


That Knits Up the Ravell'd Sleave of Care

by hauntedlittledoll



Series: Tumblr Fic War [10]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Brain death, Gen, Random Literary References for the Win, Shakespeare is My Second Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/hauntedlittledoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for wintersdrake — "for the angst war thing, how about dick doesn’t get there in time to catch tim from falling in red robin (after the ra’s confrontation)? c:"</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Knits Up the Ravell'd Sleave of Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintersdrake](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wintersdrake).



> Title taken from William Shakespeare's "Macbeth."

"I’m not going to—it’s a miracle that he survived that fall, Damian!"

"Drake is brain-dead," Damian insisted tightly.  "That is not surviving, Grayson."

His oldest brother’s face twisted.  “I said no.”

"Drake’s wishes are perfectly clear," Damian argued.  He had already exhausted such logical arguments that the older boy’s current care was a strain on Pennyworth, his condition a media circus waiting to happen, and Drake a particularly depressing waste of the pent house guest room.

He didn’t quite dare to vocalize the debilitating effect Drake’s accident had on Batman himself.  Grayson was an emotional see-saw that either gripped Damian too tightly in a spate of ridiculous overprotective panic or shoved the boy aside in Grayson’s steady march towards his own inevitable end.

This was not the comfortable manner in which Damian was accustomed to living in Gotham.  It was only in the first throes of loss that Damian saw his Father in Grayson, and it was not a pleasing mirror.

"Minors don’t get to make those kind of decisions," Grayson refuted stubbornly, crossing his arms across  his chest.  He probably meant to look like Father, implacable and unmoved.  The man looked like he was barely holding himself together even with the physical aid.

"Drake is an emancipated minor."

"I don’t care.  He’s my brother."

"You cannot act in loco parentis …"

Grayson leaned in, unconsciously bending to Damian’s level.  “Watch.  Me.”

Damian retreated a scant inch, diplomatically weighing his words as he approached from a different angle: “Drake’s accident was regrettable, Gray—”

"It wasn’t an accident," Dick shouted.  "Your grandfather threw him out that window!"

"Don’t you put this on Damian, Dick Grayson," Brown ordered, sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.  "The only person to blame is Ra’s al Ghul."

"Over a dozen heroes in the city and none of us got to Tim in time!" Dick yelled.  "I didn’t get there in time!"

"It’s not your fault either!"

Damian excused himself from the bunker without consulting either party.  They had likely already forgotten him entirely.

Although he had to commend their vocal power; even with the highly advanced soundproofing in place, Brown and Grayson’s voices tended to carry.

He could probably discard the com.  Clearly, they would not be patrolling anytime soon.  The senior heroes must first complete their grief ritual of yelling themselves hoarse, and unless Oracle saw fit to intervene, the ensuing meltdown could last hours.  Then Batman and Batgirl would want to indulge in a spot of violence, but only after they finished yelling back and forth about how they didn’t blame each other—only themselves—and forgiven all parties anew.

As if Drake had not meticulously and deliberately doled out allies and friends to everyone he loved without a single hero in reserve for his own back-up.

Well, Damian refused to feel guilty over the older boy’s state.  He had done his duty, and protected his mentor from a threat that Grayson never fully respected.  And of course, Damian in turn had treated the ninja with casual scorn and goaded his Grandfather with the defeat …

… but it wasn’t like Damian’s word held any sway with the mad man.  The Demon’s Head held little interest in his grandson as anything but a future vessel, and clearly preferred Timothy Drake overall.

It wasn’t Damian’s fault that the older boy had made a hobby of getting the best of Ra’s al Ghul.

Everything Drake did had to be blown to ridiculously dramatic proportions.  Damian had been thrown off the Tower not so long ago and survived.  He had, of course, been prepared for the eventuality with a grapple at hand; the ten year old had not asked Batman to swing in and save him from the man’s own folly.  Drake should have been equally prepared; he should not have counted on someone else taking the initiative to save his sorry life.

It was a foolish, sentimental thing to do.

Damian soon found that his feet had carried him to the only truly quiet place in the tower.  Obligingly, he turned off the com, silencing harpy-like cries that were not entirely Brown’s contribution to the incomprehensible argument.  Then he wedged himself—costume and all—into the over-stuffed armchair sideways and dryly informed the still figure in the bed:

"This is all your fault."


End file.
